Through Dangers Untold
by The Respectable Pureblood
Summary: After a horrendous night of babysitting Whiterun's offspring, the Dragonborn spitefully wishes for all the little runts of Skyrim to disappear forever. Bad move. Now she must embark on a mission to rescue them from the clutches of one wish-granting Daedric Prince of Madness, before they become his slaves forever. Oh, and keeping her sanity would be an added bonus. F!DB/Sheogorath.
1. Chapter 1: The Devil's Children

_**Through Dangers Untold**_

_"But what no one knew is that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl, and he had given her certain powers. So one night, when the baby had been particularly cruel to her, she called on the goblins for help!_

_'Say your right words,' the goblins said, 'and we'll take the baby to the castle, and you will be free!'_

_But the girl knew, that the Goblin King would keep the baby in his castle for ever and ever and ever, and turn it into a goblin! And so the girl suffered in silence. Until one day, when she was tired from a day of housework, and she was hurt by the harsh words of her stepmother, and she could no longer stand it... "_

* * *

**_1_**

The Dragonborn was not quite the most powerful being in Tamriel; but she was probably a close second. Second to something ridiculously powerful like Paarthurnax or the Thalmor. In some circles she was known for her arcane knowledge- in others she was known for shouting World-Eaters into oblivion and general bad-assery. She was a Hero. The sort of Hero you went to when the world was falling about your ears and you needed someone who knew how to fix it. The sort of Hero you went to when the Companions were too expensive. Erm…

In any case, she was not the sort of woman that could be described as Motherly, Maternal or Good With Children. The words that came to mind when describing Amelie were more along the lines of Aloof, Scary and Not to Be Crossed. And yet despite not having any children, or previous experience unless Lydia and Farkas counted, she had somehow become the Babysitter of Whiterun.

Honestly. She would have rather been the Resident Gods-Anything-But-That- she would have rather defeated Alduin again! She would have preferred being The Resident Beggar! The Resident Religious Fanatic! Alas, those positions within Whiterun had been filled.

As the sun began to set over the Hold, Amelie began preparing to baby-sit and set to work hiding away all of her valuables. She stowed away her silver cutlery, her poisonous herbs, spell books and invisibility potions. She had learnt quickly after her first attempt at babysitting, which her housecarl referred to as "_The Night Mila turned Invisible Before Accidentally Poisoning Herself."_ Out of earshot of Carlotta, Mila's Mother, of course.

Her housecarl was uncommonly excitable that evening. Amelie was almost regretting letting her go to the Bannered Mare for drinks with her beefy Nord beau. She would much rather go for a drink herself and let Lydia look after squalling brats. It would be good practice.

"Thanks so much for the night off," Lydia called from her bedroom, as if sensing her Thane's thoughts and instinctively guilt-tripping her. "But are you sure you'll be okay with Kodlak and Mila?"

She stood at the top of the Breezhome stairs, looking down at her Thane expectantly.

How could she say no to that question? Her pride was on the line! It wasn't fair using something so substantial as her self-worth as an incentive…

"I'll be fine," Amelie replied bracingly and used a chair so she could deftly pace all her paralysis poisons out of reach. A sharp ebony dagger, enchanted to absorb health, was placed with it. She glared at Lydia as she hopped down from the chair as if daring her to make a jab about her height.

"I know you don't see eye-to-eye with Mila," Lydia continued with an impressively straight face, smoothing the folds of her dress. It was probably the cleanest clothing she owned, and the least worn. "Or Carlotta…"

"Take that off," Amelie snapped brusquely. "It makes you look cheap."

"It's tradition," Lydia huffed back at her, but unclasped her Amulet of Mara all the same. "It cost me two-hundred septims!" Ah, there was the scowling housecarl she remembered!

"It's a tacky tradition," Amelie continued critically, casting her eyes about Breezhome. Hopefully there was nothing dangerous left out that children could get their hands on. Satisfied she turned to face her housecarl. "I took a necklace off a Khajit Bandit I killed this morning. It's in my dresser. Use that."

The smiley, excitable Lydia returned. "Generous of you, my Thane!"

"Back straight," she grouched at her. "I doubt Farkas wants to propose to a sack of potatoes."

And they were back to scowling housecarl. A straight-backed scowling housecarl. Amelie knew about things foreign to your common Nord, such as etiquette and posture, being from a centuries old Breton family that communicated wit and grace with every deed. Of course, that was if you asked her. If you asked Athis of the Companions you might get the opinion "stuck-up", for example. Amelie preferred the term "good posture".

Bloody everyone was getting married and having babies, these days. Amelie didn't understand why Nords felt it necessary to breed so extensively, and repeatedly. Frankly, it was a little disgusting, but she supposed when you survived a bloody civil war and the End of the World you might feel the need to have children sooner rather than later.

Carlotta was pregnant with her second child by the new Harbinger, rumour (Lydia) had it. People still gossiped in the marketplace over the elopement of Jon Battle-Born and Olfina Gray-Mane that had happened just after the Battle of Whiterun where the Imperials had fought off the Stormcloaks. Even Ysolda had managed to bag herself some travelling battle-mage from Riften, though Amelie could not see why anyone would want to marry the woman- she was as boring and common as tundra cotton and yet not half as useful. Amelie was known for being Great not Sociable.

Oh! That reminded her! Amelie hurried over to her Alchemy Room and locked it tight. She kept Sanguine's Rose inside there, and the Staff of Magnus. She was not having a repeat of_ "That Time Mila Summoned a Bloodthirsty Daedra into the Living Room."_

Where had Lydia gotten to? Probably upstairs admiring herself in the new looking-glass that Farkas had bought her. Bah. In Amelie's heart of hearts she secretly hoped the ice-brained Companion wouldn't propose to her housecarl tonight, even though everyone and their mother knew it was happening. Couldn't he propose to Lydia _after _Amelie was done with her? Once they'd had all their adventures? It simply wasn't fair.

Now the Dragonborn was brave, but she wasn't foolish; she didn't intend on getting married for at least another five years. Perhaps she would return to Daggerfall and marry a nice rich courtier. Or if she could find an Altmer mage that wasn't completely in love with himself, she certainly wouldn't complain. She remembered a clever Destruction Tutor from her youth, an Altmer, who could do the most enchanting things with his-

"AUN-TEE-DRA-GON-BORN!"

"Magic staff!" Amelie snapped, irritably. "I was going to say magic staff!"

Lydia had warned her that there wasn't to be a repeat of _"That Time Amelie Told Some Very Inappropriate Things to Mila."_

She looked helplessly down at her cup of Black-Briar reserve and sighed in defeat. It joined the ebony dagger and bottles atop the high shelf but not before Amelie firmly reminded herself which was poison and which was booze. She remembered only too well the second-to-last attempt at babysitting- what Lydia referred to as _"The Night Amelie Accidentally Poisoned Herself and Carlotta's Husband Tried to Rescuscitate Her."_ Carlotta still got a bit sullen whenever the event was mentioned and it was surprising how deep and unflattering a shade of red the Harbinger could blush.

There would be no such shenanigans tonight, the Dragonborn swore to herself.

Lydia rose her eyebrows in a way that said _'Don't You Dare Get Drunk in Front of My Friend's Children!'_ before she opened the door. Amelie returned the look and licked the last of the mead from her lips. It was the last taste of it she'd have before Carlotta returned to pick her little brats up.

Kodlak, Carlotta's youngest barrelled into Breezhome and made a bee-line for the Alchemy Room. He kicked the door when he realised it was locked and almost immediately began to slide over to Amelie in a sly, solicitous manner. Mile Valentia followed at a more subdued pace with all the charm of a rotting skeever. To Amelie's eyes. The offspring were followed by their smiling parents and the door was shut against the oncoming cold of the night. Breezhome was suddenly crowded.

"Aunty Dragonborn," lisped Kodlak, four years old with a head of bright red curls like his father's.

"Thane Amelie," said Mila Valentia, imperiously.

_Little runt_, Amelie smiled at her cheerfully. Carlotta's eyes flashed at her for a brief moment before she turned to Lydia.

"Ready for the big night ahead?" she teased. Lydia did that horrible thing where she smiled too widely and nodded.

"Just let me grab my shoes," her housecarl replied and bounded away to her room again.

"Posturing!" said Amelie. Mila Valentia spotted the last sweetroll on the table and went straight for it.

"Miss Amelie, please may I have this sweetroll?" she asked in a sweet, syrupy voice. Her mother went all starry-eyed and cooed over how polite her little girl was; even as her son demanded that he should have half.

The sneaky little runt had known it was the last sweetroll, for sure. She could see it in Mila's greedy, beady little eyes. Oh, she may have fooled the sheep with her innocent tales of helping out her mother at the fruit and vegetable stall, but not Amelie! Oh, no! Amelie knew that beneath the thin veneer of innocent childhood there lurked the cunning of a queen among thieves. How could any decent person refuse such a sweet little image? Had Amelie mentioned how it wasn't fair? She watched the little monsters devour her pudding with a smile as friendly as a Hargraven's howl.

A silence permeated the room and begged to be filled with meaningless small talk. Amelie was loath to answer it. It was the Harbinger, Bjorn, who obliged.

"Mighty generous of you to give Lydia the night off," he began, haltingly. "I know you can find Mila and Kodlak a bit of a handful."

"Yes," said Amelie, before remembering her manners. "I mean, no. Not a handful! They're positively _darling _in my opinion, I assure you." She watched Kodlak poking at the Alchemy Room lock with narrow-eyed suspicion.

Bjorn swallowed. "And for baby-sitting Mila and Kodlak... We might not have been able to go if Lydia hadn't told us you had offered."

_Revenge for making her carry all thet Dwemer scrap home, no doubt... _Not that Amelie much liked parties at the Bannered Mare. She was more of a sophisticated sipping-wine-at-home type.

Carlotta said something in a sickly-sweet voice. It was a tone solely reserved by angry wives for husband who did things they disagreed with: such as hire disreputable babysitters. Lydia had practiced hers upon Amelie many times in preparation of ensnaring Farkas, no doubt.

"What was that, my love?" asked Bjorn with a heavy sigh. The relationship was obviously strained by the Harbinger's long hours and Carlotta's latest pregnancy, Amelie decided with a cynical stab of amusement. It looked like there was trouble in paradise.

"I said Tilma could have done it, dearest," Carlotta repeated herself. "We needn't have bothered Amelie."

"I don't mind," Amelie lied, smoothly. It was good to play nice if you wanted to keep your housecarl stayed happy.

"Aye, an old woman like Tilma is no match for these two!" Bjorn smiled handsomely at Amelie but wilted guiltily under Carlotta's relentless stare. Honestly the man was so whipped he'd even allowed Mila to keep her last-name instead of having it changed to his, as was proper.

"Hopefully this time you've locked away the... Daedra Hearts, was it?" Carlotta snipped at her. "Or was it Nightshade? Or Chaurus Eggs? Or was that another time?"

"There were no children present at the Nightshade incident," Amelie replied, sullenly. Bjorn cleared his throat and stared down at his boots.

"Thank the Divines," Carlotta's voice was a waspish mutter above the crackling of the fire. Kodlak began sucking his thumb.

"None of that," Amelie told him, anxious to prove that she was _so _good at looking after their children. "Sucking your thumbs in a deplorable habit, my sweet."

"_He's four_," she heard Carlotta grunt.

"So is killing things for fun and profit," was Mila's reply.

_Touché you little witch_, Amelie felt a muscle jumping in her jaw. The remark went conveniently ignored by the parents.

"Aunty Amelie doesn't kill for fun and profit," Lydia came down the stairs like a guardian angel and Bjorn looked like he could have kissed her. "She saved all of Tamriel, and it wasn't fun _or _profitable."

_It most certainly was,_ Amelie kept her thoughts to herself. She kept them to herself even as little Kodlak got hold of an ancient and priceless book entitled "_Poisonous Herbes of Daggerfalle,_". She cursed silently. _Forgot about that one._

Limp goodbyes were said between herself, Carlotta and Bjorn whom she plied with lots of sympathetic looks that were probably misinterpreted. She wished Lydia softer and far sincerer words of good luck.

"Bye daddy!" said Kodlak. "Bye mummy and Lydia!"

The three of them listened to the footsteps fade out of earshot, off along the road to the Bannered Mare for the night. Amelie turned to face her two young charges. Mila was fixing her with a sulky, unimpressed stare.

"His daddy's a werewolf," she told her, matter-of-factly. "It's why he smells like wet dog all the time."

Amelie sat down and told them that there was no such thing as a werewolf living in polite society. It was unheard of. Then, she directed them to the more child-friendly of her books.

_This night_ _will be The Night That Nothing Goes Wrong, _she vowed.

* * *

Everything was going wrong.

The floor was covered in Black-Briar Reserve and paralysis poisons, and so was Mila. Amelie had only just managed to unstick the girl by brewing up an antidote in her Alchemy Room. Of course, then Kodlak had wondered in and the night had turned into _"The Night Mila and Kodlak saw Aunty Dragonborn Decapitate a __Homicidal Dremora_."

Before then, Mila had been on the floor as rigid as a plank of wood, screaming about how she was going to make Amelie's life a living hell. The threats and screams had come out rather funny-sounding however, with half of her face paralysed like it was. She sat up at last, panting heavily from the effects of the paralysis and her screams. Her hair stuck wetly to her face which dripped one side with poison and the other with mead.

"You shouldn't have tried to climb up to the shelves," Amelie growled at her, all pretense of a happy-clappy baby-sitter gone. "Actions have consequences, you know."

"You're a really bad mummy, Aunty," Kodlak piped up from the corner. Amelie had sent him there after the Dremora incident and a lecture about why he shouldn't play with magical staffs. "But I forgive you."

Amelie sighed.

"You really are awful," Mila agreed with her half-brother and sighed in a dramatic and over-bearing manner. "It's almost pathetic really..."

"Aye," Kodlak.

"Five septims to each of you, if you don't breath a word of this to your Mother," was Amelie's immediate reaction. She saw Mila's eyes turn thoughtful and beady again. The way she had eyed up the last sweetroll only a few hours ago. It was a cold and calculating look that Amelie was sure the little girl had inherited from her dragon of a mother.

"Fifteen septims," she snapped.

"Ten!"

"Ten septims and a story!" Kodlak interrupted from the corner. He turned meekly back to the wall when he caught Amelie's murderous expression. Despite being only four he knew when someone had experienced enough. Amelie rather thought that such a notion was one Mila Valentia would never grasp. Still the way the little girl's eyes lit up at the mere mention of a story was an interesting development that had Amelie kicking herself for her stupidity. Of course. Children loved stories, the more outrageous the better.

"_Fifteen _septims... and a story," Mila told her, at last.

"That isn't fair," Amelie replied, slack-jawed. The girl's dealings were sleazier than Belethors.

"Life isn't fair," Mila told her. And that did it, really.

"Oh you want a story, do you?" Amelie growled at her. "Sit down then! Kodlak! Over here!"

Mila sat down by the fire smugly whilst Kodlak obeyed with quiet worry. He had his father's solemn brown eyes and ability to somehow know when trouble was just ahead. All the same, he felt sorry for Aunty Dragonborn as Mila could be a bit of a bully. He sat down next to his babysitter and put a reassuring hand on her leg.

"Once upon a time," Amelie spat.

"Tell it properly," Mila commanded.

_If you were my child_, the Dragonborn smiled obligingly. "Once upon a time," she began again in a horribly contrived sing-song.

_"_Once upon a time, there was a_ beautiful_ young Breton girl who was always tricked into staying home with the children by her so-called friends. The children were spoiled creatures and wanted everything to themselves and the Breton was practically a _slave!"_ She paused to see if the children had cottoned on. They hadn't. Good.

"But what no one knew was_," _Amelie cnotinued and paused to think. _"_Aye. What know one knew was... _Sheogorath-"_

The wind rattled at the window-panes. Kodlak's little frown deepened.

"Sheogorath_," _it rattled again. "Daedric Prince of Madness was in_ love _with the Breton and he had given her certain powers."

"What powers?" Mila demanded.

"A magic wish!" Amelie improvised wildly. "One single wish, only. So one night when the little runts had been particularly cruel to her, she called upon the Daedric Prince for help!"

_I'm Listening..._

"'Say your right words!' Lord Sheogorath said," she lowered her voice to a quiet whisper. "and I shall take the children to my lands, and you shall be free.'"

Her voice grew again and the words began to run together. Kodlak watched the shadows deepen on the walls and huddled close enough to the fire that it was almost too warm. "But the girl knew," said Amelie, "that wicked Sheogorath would keep the children in his castle for ever and ever and ever, and uh... turn them into his slaves! Forever! Yeah. And so she suffered in silence. Until one day, when she was tired from a day of dragon-slaying, and she was hurt by the rudeness of their mother, and she could no longer stand it..."

There was a loud crack of thunder and from the tiny Living Area of Breezehome they could hear the sharp, pattering sound of the heaven's opening up above them. Amelie felt slightly satisfied with the thought of them having to walk back to Carlotta's house in the rain. Or Jorravskr, or wherever it was they lived now.

"That was a lame story," said Mila, but she sounded uneasy. "Everyone knows you need an offering if you want to make a deal with the Daedra. We should get an extra five septims compensation,"

"I didn't like it, aunty," Kodlak whimpered.

"Aye, neither of you like anything," Amelie scoffed. "You don't like my food, you don't like my books. You don't like my house, you don't like my stories. Why do you even agree to come if you don't like it here?"

"I didn't say, I didn't like it here," the boy whispered, but nobody heard him. There was a loud, sloppy knock at the door and a sound that was like someone smacking against wood.

"Amelie?" A giggle. Lydia. Drunken Lydia. Drunken, engaged Lydia. "We're back! My _brother_-in-law brought me back here. Open the door!"

"Go and open the door please, Mila," Amelie barked. The girl didn't move. "_Now_, please."

"Twenty septims on the morning," she heard the little brat murmur under her breath. The fire had thankfully dried off the remains of mead and poison from her hair. With any luck the girl would get into a scrape at Jorravskr and someone else could take the blame.

The doorway was filled with an enormous figure. Vilkas. Amelie leapt up to help him get Lydia settled into a chair. The housecarl giggled and tried to tell Amelie what a wonderful Thane she was, and how she'd be even better if she just smiled more often. Was a bit more sociable.

"You too, Vilkas," she continued, dreamily. "Both of you are so uptight... It's _unbelievable._"

"It's unbelievable, my Thane," Amelie corrected her and shared a sympathetic look with the better half of Farkas. Vilkas returned it and seemed sober for the most part. He was always nice, if distant, to Amelie and didn't raise an eyebrow at the shattered potion bottles on the floor or the scorch-mark where a Dremora had stood. If she remembered correctly, Vilkas had been judged even less of an appropriate choice for baby-sitting. A sound achievement.

"How were the little brats?" he muttered to her as Mila and Kodlak moved to get their things with sullen yet relieved expressions.

"Nightmares," she replied, feeling a wash of exhaustion come over her. "I think I scared Kodlak a bit with some silly story, I made up. Are you here to take them? Rather you than me."

"Carlotta and Bjorn are waiting outside," he told her. "Whiterun will be very quiet tomorrow morning, I think. Farkas is out cold in the Bannered Mare still."

"Aye, it'll be a nice quiet morning," Amelie's smile was genuine at the thought of a nice long lay-in. "I suppose congratulations are in order for Lydia and Farkas?"

"Aye," Vilkas nodded stoically. "Perhaps now my brother will stop pestering me with thoughts about Lydia's eyes, though I doubt it."

"My sympathies, friend."

"Goodbye Aunty Dragonborn," said Kodlak but he seemed rather reproachful when he embraced her. As if he disapproved of something she had done, which was ironic. He probably thought summoning demons from the Planes of Oblivion was all in good fun.

"Twenty septims," was Mila's way of saying goodbye. Vilkas didn't ask but gave the Dragonborn another sympathetic look.

The three of them stepped out into the rain. Amelie couldn't close the door quick enough and didn't slam it only because she didn't want Vilkas to think she was being rude. "Horrid little runts!" she dared to say aloud. Lydia giggled from where she sat at the table.

"You bloody hate them, don't you?" she sighed.

"Not Kodlak. Mila? Gods, definitely."

Lydia laughed again and watched her Thane pick up the shattered pieces of several potions bottles. "I suppose the little brat swindled you out of your money again."

"Aye," Amelie felt anger well up inside of her at Lydia's gentle questioning. "I owe her twenty septims for something _she _did wrong! It isn't fair, Lydia."

"That reminds me of what my Ma used to say," said Lydia. "It isn't fair, Lydia, but that's the way it is."

"She sounds like a barrel of laughs..." Amelie checked she had enough broken shards to make up the five bottles that Mila had smashed. Next to the shards was the remnants of her Black-Briar Reserve. But wait... where was the dagger? The ebony dagger? She leapt upon a chair to check the shelf. Not there.

"One of the little _shits _has taken my blade!" she swore. Even Lydia seemed to sober at how angry she was. "Shor's blood, if they were _my _children, I'd-"

_You could always wish them away! _A voice told her. Amelie laughed.

"Aye of course! I didn't finish my story!" She continued sarcastically. "And it has such a good ending, too!"

"Tell me it," Lydia snorted. "I won't be so easily scared as little Kodlak."

"The Breton makes a wish... I can bear it no longer!" Amelie cried out dramatically, always possessing a flair for the dramatic since childhood. "Sheogorath, Lord Sheograth! Wherever you may be! Take those children far away from me!"

"What was that?" she heard her housecarl mock, but there was something strange about her voice. Amelie felt as if she had been the one drinking all night in the Bannered Mare. Not Lydia.

"What was what?" she slurred.

"Those weren't the words," Lydia told her in a know-it-all voice. that still wasn't quite her own. "Where did you get that rubbish? It didn't even start with "I wish!""

"Fine," Amelie teased back and corrected herself _sotto voce._ "I _wish _Lord Sheogorath would come and take those children far away from me."

"Knowing your luck, you'd just end up babysitting Braith or Jarl Baalgruf's children instead."

"Aye," Amelie nodded, darkly amused. "Then I wish Lord Sheogorath would take all the children from the whole of bloody Skyrim!" she said.

There was another melodramatic crack of lightening outside that made the two of them jump. Amelie fancied she might have heard laughter and felt all her hairs stand up on end. How queer. Then, she met Lydia's eyes and burst out into fits of laughter with her. For a moment she wondered how on Nirn her housecarl even knew what she was talking about.

Then from outside came a loud, deep yell. And then, a thin piercing scream.

* * *

**I was flicking through Skyrim Kink Meme when I found a gem about how Sheogorath would make an amazing Goblin King from Labyrinth. Watch it, if you haven't (it isn't necessary to read this fic, though). I was all "DIVINES. IT'S STORY TIME." And thus, Through Dangers Untold was spawned. I know I have another Sheogorath fic to finish, but this totally took over. I don't own anything bar OCs of course be it Bethesda or Labyrinth.**

**Will probably go over again. Just, I hadn't posted anything in forever. Review, review, review. Oh please. **


	2. Chapter 2: Not in Skyrim Anymore

**So Braith is a redguard? The daughter of Amren and Saffir? I really wish Bethesda could have differentiated the Skyrim children a bit more. I wanted to adopt a little Khajiti kitten! Anyhoo, hope you enjoy; a review would be almost as fabulous as you. Oh and repetitive swearing. There. I warned you.**

* * *

An enormous room. Grand, if a little ostentatious, and cavernous enough to put Dragonsreach to shame. An enormous, oval-shaped room, with a traditional stone floor, seeming colder, even bigger without any inhabitants. Mila Valentia had never seen something like it in all her life, nor ever read of such a place in any book. The floor was carpeted with thick, luxurious fabrics of vivid orange-red and dull purplish hues. She looked left and rightwards and spied an ornate throne that matched the strange carpets and seemed to loom towards them. It was set in a root that was laden with mushrooms and emanated a strange, throbbing aura.

"I have a feeling we're not in Skyrim anymore..." Mila found herself muttering aloud. "...Kodlak?"

"She- she did it!" her little brother was moaning and panicking just behind her. His eyes were wide with astonishment and fear. "She actually did it! She wished us away! Amelie wished us away!"

"The story wasn't real, ice-brain," Mila rolled her eyes at him. "Weren't you listening? If Amelie'd managed to wish us away, then it would mean a Daedric Prince was in _love _with her. That would be crazy, right?"

Kodlak's lower lip pushed up slightly and he was looking more pathetic and scared by the moment. "Hush," Mila grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She may have been precocious and spoiled, but she did love her brother really. "Stay close to me, and I'll keep you safe." Kodlak nodded once, twice, three times more in rapid succession. "There has to be a reasonable explanation for this."

"Well, well," a nasally voice interrupted Mila's display of bravery, and ruined the moment. "If it isn't Mila and the milk-drinker."

Mila turned on her heel to face the interrupter with her meanest, haughtiest glare. It was a potent mixture of her mother and Amelie, and had the Wolf twins backing away back at Jorravskr (though Mila had yet to figure out whether they were mocking her, she was sure she was on to a good thing). Braith, horrid common girl, was staring at her. All of Mila's fear and curiosity was forgotten when she came face-to-face with her arch-nemesis, or as she liked to call her: the Skeever of Whiterun. Children have a strange way of forgetting important things like that.

"Oh look, Kodlak," Mila replied. "A baby haagraven!" In some ways Mila was grateful for Amelie's awful babysitting; it gave her access to lots of books young girls shouldn't be reading, and a wider range of ugly creatures to insult Braith with. Honestly, the horrid girl was just jealous because _Lars _played with her. Maybe if Braith was less of a bully. Oh, how irony is lost on spoiled young girls.

"Is this your doing?" Braith demanded. "Some stupid prank of yours?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" was Mila's incense retort. The two of them jumped when, suddenly, a good nine or ten children came into existence, seemingly from nowhere. And then more, until the room seemed positively crowded with them. Mila felt a sharp pain in her hand and realised that Kodlak was squeezing so tightly, she nearly couldn't feel her fingers. Carefully, she extricated her hand from his and allowed him to hang on to a bit of her skirt instead. Lars Battle-Born appeared at her other side with an identical expression of fear and curiosity.

"Something is very wrong here," a well-spoken girl, one Mila did not know, was saying- to herself, it seemed. She was a Breton, by the look of her and deathly pale as if her Ma never let her play outside. She looked towards the walls, where sconces held flames of alternating blue and orange. "We should not be here. None of us."

A circle of children was beginning to form, the sound they made a mixture of demanding questions, cries of "oooh!" and insults to friends and strangers alike. "_Remove _your hand from my person!" one of Jarl Baalgruf's daughters, whom Mila knew only by sight, was berating Lucia- an orphan girl who she sometimes played with. "None may touch the daughter of the Jarl!"

"I'll touch whatever I want, Miss Priss!" Lucia argued back and shoved the girl with a dirt-smeared hand as if to show her. Mila shuddered at the sight of the muddy hand; she hated unclean things. She always washed her hands before helping her Ma at the stall, and never trusted someone who had dirt under their fingernails. So, although a spoiled brat, Mila was also the sensible sort and thought to rouse her fellow children into one group and perchance go exploring.

"Alright!" she bellowed hotly. "Listen up! Who's in charge here!"

"Being a higher rank than- well- _all _of you," the Jarl's daughter replied first. "It's only fitting that I assume the mantle of leader."

"I'm a Jarl's child, too!" said another child, a boy. "Perhaps _I _should be the leader!"

"No! Me!"

"You? You couldn't lead your way out of sweet-shop!"

"Why would I lead us _out _of a sweet-shop? Obviously you're too _stupid _to be leader!"

"Yeah!"

"Nuh-uh!"

And so on and so forth went the argument, every child trying to shout over the other. Braith punched Lars, Mila punched Braith and one dirty orphaned boy threatened to have them assassinated. Apparently he knew how to do such things, and had done so before. Kodlak watched with wide green eyes, his thumb inadvertently finding its way to his mouth. He did not try to suggest himself as the leader, being easily the youngest by six years. Yes, much too young for that sort of funny business. He was reassured by the arguing. Surely none of them would be so stupid as to argue if they were all in danger, right? He wished his Pa or Amelie were with him. They had that hero's way of always knowing what to do. _Not Amelie_, he told himself and pouted firmly. His chest hurt whenever he thought about how she must have wished them all away. What other logical explanation was there?

He had let go of Mila as soon as she had lunged for Braith in a bid to claim leadership. Kodlak found himself backing further and further away from the fight so as to not get hit. He remembered the way his Pa liked to dodge and back away in fights and how it annoyed Uncle Vilkas to no end. Kodlak thought hard for a moment when he thought of his Pa. He did not miss him yet, but was sure he would begin to, if they didn't get back soon. Could anyone have wished them away? Would either Ma or Pa want to wish him away? Kodlak squashed the thought as simply preposterous as turned his large eyes to the end of the room where the throne was- he wanted to sit down and think on the business. Maybe when the leader was selected, he could advise them. Probably not. As the youngest child in Whiterun he was used to getting the short end of the stick in games and had no expectation.

But the throne was no longer empty, but occupied. On the throne was a man, or more accurately, a God. Kodlak felt sure he'd know what was going on, and although Ma had told him never to talk to strangers he also felt that situation warranted a different strategy. The apparition noticed him immediately as he approached and one corner of its mouth quirked upwards in bemusement.

"Are you a midget?" it asked as soon as Kodlak was within hearing distance. "Or a child?"

Kodlak frowned, and thought hard. "Child," he said at last. The figure sagged with almost comical relief.

"Thank Me for that! I wasn't sure if I'd gotten the words right," he told the little boy, conspiratorially. "And are you all children? No midgets?"

"No midgets," was Kodlak's solemn reply. "Quite sure, sir."

"Oh aye?" the strange, white-haired, white-eyed man leaned forwards and grinned. "And what is it those baby mortals are in such a tizzy about, lad?"

"Oh them?" Kodlak pulled his thumb out of his mouth to answer. "They're trying to decide on a leader."

"A leader?" The man threw himself upwards so he stood and his voice boomed and echoed off the walls. The group of fighting girls and boys fell silent as the strange white-haired man began to stalk towards them. "Traitors! Heathens! Usurpers of my throne! I should have all of you chained up and beheaded for your treason!" he suddenly turned and smiled kindly at Kodlak. "Except for you, baby mortal. You can stay here."

"Er... fanks." Lisped Kodlak, hesitantly.

"All adventurers need a leader," a girl piped up from the back of the group. "In every book, there's already a leader."

"You've already _got _a leader, lass!" the man doffed an imaginary hat to her and threw his head back to laugh. "Me! No ifs or buts! I'll send you off to bed with a switching and no supper- not a bite of anything I tell you!"

"Ah," the man wiped a tear from his eye. "I could be such a _proud _father."

"Can I be your advisor?" Kodlak asked quickly, wanting to get into the position before anyone else could claim it. "Every leader needs an advisor! I'm awful good with advice!"

"I've already got an advisor," the man told him, snootily. Kodlak told him that one could never have enough advisors and was hired on the spot. The two of them had taken a shine to each other already, much to the disagreement and jealousy of Braith who liked to be the advisor so she could boss people about.

"And just who are you?" she demanded fiercely, her eyes fixed him with a challenging stare. There were murmurs of the question repeated and rippling through the group. All but one silent girl repeated it with a curious look. She already knew who he was and was struck silent with discomfort and fear. Her name was Babette and she was not actually a child, but a vampire stuck forever in a little girl's body and knew far more than any other son or daughter in the room.

The man puffed his chest impressively, teeth white, eyes wild and bowed low all pomp and charm. "Sheogorath!" He declared, letting his voice echo through the room. "Daedric _Prince _of Madness! Lord of the Shivering Isles!"

The children stared. The Mad God smiled.

"Charmed!"

* * *

Seconds after the high, piercing scream, Amelie was wrenching the front door open with one hand and summoning wickedly red flame from the other. She was rarely relaxed anyway, but the switch from her 'relaxed' to adrenaline-fuelled dragonslayer was lightening fast and unmissable. She had received little oppurtunity for adventure in the past several months. Baby-sitting didn't count. That was a _nightmare_, not an adventure. Subtle difference. Since the resolving of the civil war, a significant number of soldiers, surviving Stormcloaks and Imperial both, had taken up the sorts of jobs that Amelie would wander around doing. Mines and forts were cleared out, without her help these days, and sellswords practically swarmed some cities, such as Markarth. Even Bjorn had been a soldier in the Imperial army, before he had become the Harbinger and their newest Companion had been one also.

In any case the whole damned thing meant less work for her, the original wanderer of Skyrim! She should have had the job copyrighted. Now there were other people solving her mysteries, slaying her dragons even! Going wherever the roads took them, as Amelie had always done! With the debacle at the College of Winterhold also resolved and the World-Eater gone, Amelie found not much use for any of her talents past a little tutoring to travellers. Oh and brat-uh-babysitting. So, she was indecently ecstatic that Something Bad was happening in Whiterun. Something was finally happening in Whiterun! Nothing had Happened since she'd trapped Odahviing. She was overjoyed.

But totally super-serious, too.

"What's happening?" she demanded, kicking her front door shut behind her; the flair for dramatics was manifesting itself again. "Thief? Dragon? Oh please say it's a dragon!" she strained her ears for the familiar sounds of screeches and roars. Bjorn was kneeling on the floor, looking at something, whilst Vilkas had his sword drawn and raised in a defensive position. Carlotta stood behind them with the back of her hand pressed against her mouth in distress. Strange little sobs were coming from way inside her throat, and the other hand twitched and flailed at her side in panic. Amelie felt a funny sense of guilt and foreboding tingle through her body like three Cliff-Racers and a spiced wine all at once.

She dared to ask. "Bjorn? Vilkas?" and the foreboding feeling intensified. "Where... Where are Mila and Kodlak?"

"They just... They just..." Carlotta's voice was a strangled choke that tapered off at the end. _Oh shit._

"They just disappeared!" Vilkas finished in a guttural growl. "Right before our eyes! But how? And why?"

_Oh shit, oh shit._

Bjorn's expression was one that Amelie only used when fighting Blood Dragons or if her impressive collection of enchanted weaponry was being threatened. It was a mixture of paternal love and cold promise. He stood up, something clutched in his hands whilst his eyes swivelled left and right and his nostrils flared as if scenting for something. Amelie realised what it was. Her ebony dagger. The children had been gone- wished away, she was sure of it- but the dagger had been left behind. Bjorn's fingers- quite capable of snapping her delicate Breton neck- were clenched around its hilt. And, if some far-fetched conjecture and supposition could be relied upon then Amelie was quite sure the man was a werewolf. And his children were missing. And it was entirely her fault. And all she could think was:

_...shitshitshitshitshit...oh shit, oh shit..._

She felt like she hadn't panicked so much since the memorable gate-crashing at the Thalmor Embassy, or perhaps even her final stand-off with Alduin. She tried very hard not to hyperventilate, very, very hard- but Carlotta was crying in the background and Vilkas was swearing up and down that he'd find the little ones. Scariest of all was Bjorn with her dagger inches away from his face and the way he breathed in deeply, as if searching for a scent.

"That's an enchanted blade!" Amelie blurted out in a blind panic. She rushed forwards and found it easily passed into her hands from Bjorn's. He trusted her opinion she realised, sick with guilt. Perhaps she could find a way to sort it out in time, but time was exactly what she needed right now. She could not rectify her mistakes if she was thrown into the Dragonsreach Dungeon. And so, the only conceivable way forwards was to (sort-of) lie.

"Do you see the way the blade gleams ever so slightly?" she murmured in a low, strained voice. As if responding to her words the edge of the blade glinted a dull, ominous red. "I'd wager that's an offensive enchantment. Fire perhaps, or... to absorb health." She fought to keep her voice neutral, knowing that there wast he distinct possibility that Bjorn think her erratic heartbeat was caused by more than the disappearance of his children.

"Silver-Hand?" Vilkas offered up a suggestion.

"None left." Bjorn growled. Amelie swallowed but it felt like there was sand in her throat. And _this _was why everyone said: "Don't cavort with Daedra. Shit gets real, fast." Okay, so they didn't say it like that, but Amelie was sure that was the gist of it.

"No scent," Bjorn had continued. "Only Mila's..." he turned so suddenly to Amelie that she almost shrieked like the guilty criminal she was. "Another enchantment?" was all the Harbinger asked.

"Some Illusion magics could... in theory... scramble a scent," Amelie resumed her sort-of lying. "I've never tried."

"Have we had any jobs that could anger someone so powerful?" Vilkas was saying. "A blade like that, doesn't belong to a common thug."

Their suppositions were interrupted by shouts coming from further North of the hold. All four of them snapped their heads towards Dragonsreach where the stampeding of armor-clad feet could be heard along with yells and commands. A large group of Whiterun guards suddenly swerved into view, surprisingly quick. One at the front, the leader of the guard- a name Amelie had never cared to remember- was shouting.

"To arms! To arms! The Jarl calls for aid from the good citizen's of Whiterun!"

"Guard!" Bjorn shouted to him. "What's going on?"

"Harbinger!" he replied, "and Dragonborn. It's the Jarl's children, they've disappeared! Into thin air you'd think, from the way the nanny told it."

"Our children, too!" Carlotta wailed, suddenly, eyes bulging. "That cannot be a coincidence!"

"Yet, I cannot see a connection," Vilkas concluded, his dark gaze suddenly fixed to the horizon. "But we should sweep the surrounding area. They can't have gotten far. Amelie, you come with me. You, go with the Harbinger."

"Carlotta, get inside," Bjorn told his wife. "I'm sure Amelie wouldn't begrudge you the use of her home."

"N-no," said Amelie, faintly. She was being led in the direction of Whiterun's main gates, and everything was happening so quickly-

"Dragonborn," the guard said. "I hope you're as good at finding children as you are at slaying beasts."

_Shit._

* * *

**So that's that. Not as long as the first chapter, but hopefully not too short. Hopefully, enjoyable too. Also, I'd like to make a quick announcement so- hmm- _skip if you dislike authors notes and announcements._ But tell me if you enjoyed it!**

**Sooo... I'm writing another Skyrim fanfiction. It's huge- incorporates Stormcloaks, Dark Brotherhood, Thieves, Thalmor, Dragonborn and Daedra. Sort of tumbled out after I finished re-reading the Game of Thrones books. It has multiple criss-crossing story-threads and multiple protagonists: Khajit brothers, a thief, an assassin, the Dragonborn, plotting Thalmors and underground anti-Thalmor revolutionaries. And spies and plots and conspiracies and all that kind of beef: seriously, I felt like Mephala writing it... just with less arms and all that... _Anyway_ cutting to the chase: would you read such a thing? would you... CO-WRITE? Or, have you read this and thought that you have a totally awesome, three-dimensional character that I could use in it? PM/leave a message in the review to let me know, sweetlings. That would be cool.**

**Ta for reading, have a beautiful day! **


	3. Chapter 3: To Summon Sheogorath

**Chapter Three of Through Dangers Untold! Also, I uploaded the first chapter of my conspiracy/plot-packed fanfiction. It's called The Wretched game,** _**hinthinthinthint,** **and you should totally check it out,** __**hinthinthinthint**. **And feed me your ideas, **__hinthinthint._

* * *

"Oh, I hardly ever get children in the Isles!" Sheogorath practically vibrated with enthusiasm. "None of the blood-lust! The ardour! The appetite!" he shrugged complacently. "Terribly boring if you ask me." and then he turned his intimidating gaze to a small, hungry-looking boy who Kodlak had never seen before. "And if I get too bored, I might seek some... Violent amusement," he warned them all. "Or I might not! Who knows?"

"If you're bored sir," said the hungry boy. "I could tell you about the time I had an old woman assassinated." He was rather proud of the fact.

"You're going to fit in here!" Sheogorath told him. "Oh, I wasn't expecting that! Delightful! You'll tell us everything over dinner!" He declared.

The Lord of the Shivering Isles, as he called himself, made short work of arranging his kidnapped children into a circle. Kodlak felt awfully special when he was allowed to sit on the God's immediate right. The Prince had a strange, electric aura coming from him in waves and it make Kodlak feel strange: giggly and like he could do anything. From nowhere, Sheogorath seemed to produce a delicate glass ball that glowed with a soft light. He informed the children that they were going to pass it around and introduce themselves. Sheogorath went first, despite having already introduced himself. He seemed to be fond of listening to himself speak. Much like Aunty Dragonborn, Kodlak thought.

"Sheogorath!" the Mad God puffed his chest impressively. "Daedric Prince of Madness! Lord of the Shivering Isles!" There was a smattering of polite applause as he passed the crystal ball to Kodlak who whispered "M'Kodlak," rather anti-climatically before passing it to the pale girl on his right.

"Babette," the girl informed them all. "And," she bowed her head. "My lord. There seems to have been a mistake."

The room went very quiet. Everyone stared with wide eyes. They weren't sure how long they had been in Sheogorath's Palace, only that there had been a long gap between their arrival and the introductions. The place had a sense of timelessness about it. They had been here long enough to know that Sheogorath didn't make mistakes, however.

"Mistake?" the Prince repeated, ominously.

Babette bowed her head again. "You see my lord, technically I haven't been a child for at least two centuries," she shrugged, then. "I forget."

Sheogorath looked ill at ease and examined her over the top of Kodlak's head. Kodlak examined her too, feeling that the advisor would do well to copy his leader. "You're not a midget are you?!" Sheogorath boomed.

"Er, no." the unchild replied awkwardly. "I am... a creature of the night, my lord."

"What's that?" said Lars Battle-Born.

"A vampire," Mila informed them all. Kodlak smiled at Babette reassuringly as fearless children all turned to Babette with morbid interest. She seemed to wilt under their curious expressions, a little wistful-looking and confused at the lack of terrified screaming.

"Well, that's alright then," Sheogorath shrugged. "Continue with the introductions!"

And so the introductions continued, although Kodlak was wondering what a vampire was again: but didn't want to ask if it made him look stupid or unworthy of his advisory position. Braith introduced herself next, then a boy called Frodnar, then the murderous Aventus Aretino. A boy called Joric with dreamy eyes told everyone his name and was about to pass the ball to a dirty, ragged orphan when it disappeared completely.

"Enough!" Sheogorath cried and waved a dismissive hand. "The rest of you shall now be known as "Oi" or "Baby mortal". No ifs or buts: or I'll send you to bed without any supper!"

Jarl Baalgruf's daughter looked extremely put out at this declaration and told him so. Kodlak wanted to recommend Lord Sheogorath to turn her into a creature that matched her personality. A slug, or something.

"I want to introduce myself," she said.

"What's this?!" Sheogorath stalked towards her and positively loomed, but a child isn't afraid of anything they should be and stands their ground. "The Mad God answers to no mortal, little girl!"

Which Kodlak thought didn't make sense. Because Amelie had asked this Lord Sheogorath to take them all away and he had answered. Nobody had pressed their luck by asking Sheogorath to take them home yet. Despite missing his parents, Kodlak wasn't sure he wanted to go back to Whiterun yet. Not when he was living in a _palace_. All the same Jarl Baalgruf's daughter was banished to her room for the rest of the day. How long was a day in the Shivering Isles? Kodlak wasn't sure.

"I couldn't possibly invite Sithis," Sheogorath was shaking his head at Babette, the unchild. "He isn't very good with children: and I've got loads here! Wouldn't go down well. Besides, he never replies to my letters! I understand it's hard to write a letter when one is a black formless Void, but at the very least he could try!"

"Could I visit him?" Kodlak heard her ask, wondering who Sithis was. "May I visit him then Lord, my Dread Father? Let me go on pilgrimage."

"There's only one way to get to the Void," Sheogorath cast her a sly look of amusement. "Only one way and it's one-way!" he threw his head back in laughter which drew the attention of the slowly dissipating circle. The crystal ball in the Lord's hands suddenly turned into ghostly, ethereal dagger. "But if that's your wish I'll oblige!"

Babette was suddenly very interested in the throne. "My lord," she was saying. "Did I tell you how much I love the decor of your palace? So striking! So symbolic! I think I might stay a while longer... if you'll have me."

"Suit yourself," Sheogorath didn't even bother to keep the disappointment out of his voice. The dagger disappeared in a puff of smoke. "Right!" he bellowed over the heads of his latest minions. "Children play games, and you're children! Except for you!" he flung a hand at Babette. "So we're going to play the Oblivion Crisis! Who wants to be Mehrunes Dagon?!"

Kodlak tried to spare a thought for his Ma and Pa, and wonder if Amelie was going to fix her mess. But then Sheogorath told him that he was to play the role of Martin Septim, and Kodlak was so overjoyed that he got an important role in a game for once that he completely forgot everything of Whiterun, of parents, and careless Dragonborns.

* * *

A number of important figures of Whiterun were circled around a table. It was situated in what had been the "war-room" of sorts in Dragonsreach. It took Amelie far, far back to the fateful day she had been unwilling deployed to the Western Watchtower to take on a bloody _dragon, _and seal her fate. Jarl Baalgruf took centre-place, leaning over the table grim-faced and stoic. He was a vengeful man, Amelie reminded herself, feeling a surge of panic rise up inside her. And if she thought that Bjorn, the Harbinger, would tear through Oblivion to get his children back, she knew that Baalgruf would go further. His children were his last link to his late wife, and the future of Whiterun.

Amelie felt like a massive prick. Here was Lydia, Irileth, Bjorn, the Jarl, Vilkas, Farkas, the Captain of the Guard, the Gray-Manes _and_ the Battle-Born men and a handful of other prominent Whiterun citizens, all intent on getting these children back, out of their mind with worry for them, and out of ideas. And there she was, Great and Wonderful Dragonborn, who vowed to get back the children at any cost. Who _knew _where they had gone, and had an inkling of how to get them back. But was doing nothing.

It had been three days. Three days of heavy, oppressive silence. Three days that she _should _have been doing something about the whole mess. If only to remove Carlotta's red-ringed eyes and hourly sobbing from her home. It was becoming downright depressing, and she would positively choke on her guilt soon. Not to mention she felt bad for inadvertently casting a gloomy pall over Farkas and Lydia's announcement of marriage.

But there was hope. Thick, heavy clouds of dark grey were slowly making their way over Whiterun; and anyone could summon Sheogorath during a storm. It was almost as if the Prince was daring her to summon him, and try and bargain the children back. And although, truly really deeply, Amelie didn't want to do it... at all... And though she didn't really miss any of the children, she was going to do it. Summon the Lord of the Shivering Isles, Prince of Madness and tell him it was all one big misunderstanding. Hopefully, the Mad God would see fit to answer her call.

"We have received word from Riverwood, from Falkreath and from Windhelm," Proventus Avenicci was droning, and clutched several urgent-looking scrolls in his arms. "All of them detailing reports of children going missing in the late hours of the night, or found missing in the morning."

"Amelie thinks that the captors might have used Illusion magic to cover their tracks," Vilkas told them all, ignoring the warning look that Amelie was trying to give him. Farengar, who was also at the table, frowned and seemed to be shaking his head from side to side. "It's a possibility that we can't ignore," Vilkas growled at the mage.

"Illusion magic is the most under-developed school of magic," Farengar was saying, even as Amelie cursed her flimsy lying skills. "It's pure theory to suggest that such magic could be used on such a large scale as the entirety of Skyrim. And a wild theory at that," he finished with a condescending look in Amelie's direction. Okay, _who _was the Arch-Mage here?

"What's your theory then, _wizard_?" asked Bjorn Half-Moon, the vengeful Harbinger. _No don't ask him that_, Amelie grimaced guiltily.

"Think about this simply," Farengar told them all. He was used to the jeers and distrust of simple mercenaries such as the Companions, but look how they needed him in times of crisis! Farengar was fond of puzzles and this one would be rewarding. Certainly, all he needed to do was apply logic to the situation and the solution would be revealed. "There is no possible way an organisation, let alone an individual, could succeed in- presumably- physically kidnapping all the children of Skyrim. Such a notion is preposterous. So we know at once, that magic was used."

Rain was starting to patter lightly against the roof of the Dragonsreach Palace. Servants sloped in corners and skulked in shadows, unwilling to risk the Jarl's bad temper. They were already in trouble for letting the young Whiterun heirs out of their sights, and the nanny had been fire that morning without a reference. Amelie listened to the rain and Farengar's conjecture and felt a queer mixture of guilt, fear and impatience.

"Of course it was magic," a Gray-Mane was nodding. "No good comes of magic."

"_Anyway_," Farengar cut off the imbecile and continued his theory. "We know it was magic used across an almost impossible amount of land. If it is to be believed that all children were abducted at the same time, then it is to be believed that they were all taken with the same spell. Such an amount of magicka would be- truly remarkable."

"Cut to the chase," Bjorn was growling again. Amelie really suspected he could be a werewolf, and told herself rather flippantly. Was that... fur? Growing out of his ears?

"The _only _beings that could harness such an amount of magic," Farengar glared at the Harbinger: a mindless mercenary with little brain, in his own, informed opinions. "Are the Divines, who would not interfere in such a way. And... Daedra."

A flurry of activity broke loose after the summation of the theory. The Dragonborn seemed to sort of squawk, and Bjorn seemed to roar with triumph at being able to point his rage in a direction. The Gray-Manes were referring to the Oblivion Crisis and bad-mouthing mages in general, and somewhere in the middle Jarl Baalgruf had sunk into deep speculation.

"Which Prince?" Farengar continued over the rabble trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. He truly thought that he was correct in his theory. "And for what purpose? I couldn't say. I don't know. This has never happened before."

"I think I might have an inkling," the Dragonborn told them in all in a strangled voice. Farengar felt dismay rise up in him as all those who had chattered throughout his theory and grumbled, turned to the Dragonborn for a plan, despite the fact that she was also a mage. _Some __people get all the credit_, he grumbled to himself. "J-Just an idea!" she finished, quietly.

"Any ideas are welcome at this point, Dragonborn," said Jarl Baalgruf. She nodded. Took a deep breath.

The storm had broken outside. _Sheogorath can be summoned any time there is a storm_, a snooty voice in her head told her. _How many storms does one get in Whiterun._

"I need to return to Breezehome," she told the group. "To collect some research materials and references."

"Let me go with you," said Bjorn. Vilkas, Farkas and Lydia had stepped forwards as if the three of them already expected to go with her. Amelie grappled wildly in her mind for an excuse.

"I will only be a few minutes," she shook her head. "And time is of the essence. Wait here. But Lydia, take Carlotta to Jorravskr away from our home. She needs warmer fires and stronger drink, than we have."

"Yes, my Thane." Lydia went away at once.

"We can always rely on the help of the Dragonborn," Jarl Baalgruf was not smiling, but he looked at Amelie gratefully. Amelie managed a determined half-smile and to block out the colourful array of language that blazed through her mind a mile a minute. Suddenly everyone was looking at the Dragonborn as if Amelie Knew What She Was Doing. A frightening prospect. Amelie turned on her heel and began to follow Lydia's path to Breezehome.

Flour, water and snowberries could make the paint to draw a circle. She had soul gems. The rain was coming down thick and fast, drenching her, but Amelie was wrapped up in her mission. She had scrolls, cheese, enough to build a make-shift shrine. She could move the bed to make space for the summoning circle. She would have to lock the doors. No one could come to the house, no one could know. Not with Farengar so succintly laying the blame in a Daedric Prince's direction. It would make it look like it was her fault!

"It _is_ your fault, _mey tafiir!_" she snapped at herself in draconic- mey tafiir, fool thief- and hurried home.

* * *

Haskill found his Lordship in the Palace Atrium. Someone was trying to summon Sheogorath. Someone powerful. They wouldn't stop and it was beginning to annoy Haskill somewhat. He knew that Sheogorath was fare more adept at ignoring a summons than he. Inside the Atrium there was a glowing, rather dangerous-looking portal, a shade of violent purple. It was situated in the middle of the room leading to only the Mad-God-Knew-Where and was surrounded by mortal children. Half of them were garbed in red robes and black gloves and the other half clunked about in what could only be child-sized replicas of the Blades Armour. The robed children were reminiscent of the Mythic Dawn and were in a hyper, screaming frenzy shouting things like "Down with the Empire!" and "Paradise!". One rather pale-looking girl sat in the corner, reading a book.

Haskill suppressed a sigh upon realising that Sheogorath was in his Champion of Cyrodiil guise- a form he had barely used since receiving it some two hundred years ago. It was probably the most vivid game of dress-up any of the mortal children had ever played, he reflected. He felt something of a migraine coming on. _As soon as one thinks they are used to the Shivering Isles..._

"Bow to your emperor!" A tiny mortal was demanding, dressed in a blue robe. Other children were screaming at each other and throwing insults.

Sheogorath noticed his steward and stopped the game. "Remember this form, Haskie?" He demanded, giving a twirl which looked out-of-place on his dour, Dunmer appearance. None on the children seemed to notice that Sheogorath had changed his appearance. Perhaps he was casting an illusion. The Daedric Prince of Madness was good with illusion.

"How could I forget, my lord," said Haskill.

"Moody bugger, wasn't he?" Sheogorath quickly reverted back to his usual form. The mortal children seemed to blink their eyes in confusion and all of them stared at him in wonder and confusion. "I think we changed him for the better!"

"Someone is trying to summon you sir," Haskill didn't answer the question. If he agreed that the Champion of Cyrodiil had been a "moody bugger", Sheogorath would probably take offense. "The Dragonborn, in fact. The mortal whose wish you granted."

Kodlak's head whipped up at the mention of Dragonborn. As advisor he decided he deserved a part of the conversation as much as Sheogorath and his moody, emotionless steward. Sheogorath was frowning long and hard at Haskill. "She should have been careful what she wished for," he was saying.

Before Kodlak could reach the Mad God he was engulfed by a crowd of mini-Blades and screaming Mythic Dawn cultists. He wished Aventus Aretino wouldn't try to assassinate him so enthusiastically. He rather wished he had sat out with Babette and read books and found out what a vampire was. Being the Emperor was hard work.

"For the Blades!" Mila howled.

"We don't fear death!" Braith yelled back, throwing her red hood back over her head. The game continued. Kodlak narrowly avoided assassination from Francois Beaufort, who was still bitter that he hadn't been able to introduce himself. The Mad God had disappeared inside the portal: swallowed up and somewhere else.

* * *

**Is it just me who would freaking love to be a kid in the Shivering Isles? Provided Sheo was in a good mood, it would just be one over-the-top game of dress up after the next. In the next chapter Amelie and Sheogorath meet and Amelie travels to the Shivering LABYRINTH to rescue the children. There are also some talking Everscamps. And a mudcrab. Yeah, things get weird... Hey, Dervenin will be there too. **

**Love to all of you! And cheese! And even more Love and Cheese to loyal fans of Love You Madly: which I will hopefully update soon. **


	4. Chapter 4: A Little Game

"Fetcher!"

Amelie threw her hands up in dismay and tried to quell the panic clogging up her chest. She had been existing in a strange detached state of disbelief for the past three days; and now she had finally tried to fix her mistakes, nothing was happening. At least she could fall back on swearing. Her Illusion tutor of the Winterhold College had always liberally peppered his lectures with Dunmeri swear-words.

"Son of a cliff-racer whore!" she finished her tirade with a heavy exhale of breath. As a young girl, in Daggerfall no less, it had been quite difficult to get a hold of good swears, and alcohol. Skyrim had both in plenty.

In truth, Daedric Rituals were a gap in Amelie's education that she had always been nervous about filling. Daedra Cults were probably the most frowned upon subject in Tamriel, and mages in Skyrim got enough crap as it was without seeking out Daedric Princes for education purposes. Therefore, it was possible she had been frantically summoning for the past fifteen minutes quite incorrectly. But what else was there to do? She had dragged her bed across the room, to make space for the summoning circle; she had brewed a thick, reddish paste to use as paint, dug up soul gems… and she had even made a makeshift shrine, though it was now kicked over in a fit of pique.

The bedroom floor was stained red with summon symbols, copied from the one text that Amelie possessed on such purposes. She had no idea how to clean it off again, and really wasn't looking forward to explaining the mess to Lydia.

"You fetching mammoth-lover!" she bleated, impotently. "Lord Sheogorath… Argh!"

"Mammoth-lover", that one was Onmund's. Let it be known that what a Mage lacks in combat prowess he will certainly make up for in colourful swears. "If you don't show yourself soon, Prince. I'll… I'll…"

_What would I do?_ Amelie scolded herself. What could anyone, even the Dragoborn, do to one of the Princes? But before Amelie could ponder how she would go about dismembering the Daedric Prince of Madness- and possibly skinning him for causing her so much trouble- there was a sudden flash of heat that almost blinded her. An otherworldly sound of something tearing was accompanied by a thick, burning smell. _A portal_, Amelie realised, her voice dying in her throat. All her anger, and impressive mastery of colloquialisms, crumbled away like so much ash in her throat and she choked instead.

Standing in her modest bedroom, inspecting his nails with a bored expression, was Lord Sheogorath: Daedric Prince of Madness. Looking very out of place. It was a contrast to see someone so extraordinary in so mundane a place as her sleeping quarters.

"You'll what?" The Prince drawled, in a disinterested voice. Amelie felt a little disappointed, as well as fearful. They had met before, within the reaches of Pelagius' Mind, and Lord Sheogorath had gifted her with the Wabbajack. Perhaps he didn't remember, and why would he? He had bigger things to ponder than mortals, she supposed- even semi-divine ones like the Dragonborn. Lord Sheogorath looked exactly how she remembered him. His white sightless eyes gave off the impression of blindness, though this wasn't so; and he was attired in beautifully embroidered purples and fine, rich cloth.

"You'll what?" The being prompted again, looking up to meet her eyes and raising his brows severely in a manner that resembled a stern schoolmaster.

Amelie found herself fumbling for words, for her instinctual High Rock wit and grace. Never before had it failed her and, she became acutely aware that, if she were to offend Sheogorath... it would be the last thing she ever did. She pictured Kodlak and forced the image to the front of her head, determinedly recalling the depressing state of Carlotta and Bjorn in the past few days, and how it was all her fault. She much preferred Carlotta's long, boring speeches about "all the men of Whiterun being in love with her" to her despairing tirade about "her lost babies!"

"It's not good to keep me waiting!" Sheogorath told her, in a sing-song voice. "I might wander off!"

"My lord," she managed at last. "I... it's about the children."

"The children?" Sheogorath repeated. "Ah yes! Oh what to do with them... poor things." He shrugged his shoulders and strutted back and forth. "You made a mistake or two there, didn't you?"

"Did you take them, then?" Amelie asked. "My lord... after I asked you to?"

"Me?" the Prince turned to her and grinned. "A thief? Me?! You've summoned the wrong Daedric Prince, missy! Must be looking for Nocturnal!"

"I'd like them back, if it's all the same to you," Amelie continued, neither confirming nor denying an accusation of stealing. Lord Sheogorath was smiling like he knew a secret she didn't. She walked forward as if to implore him, then fell back, remembering who he was. Amelie hated the feeling of being scared, or weak. Usually she was the most powerful being in the room, but then rooms did not usually contain Daedric Princes.

"What's said..." Sheogorath told her. "Is said."

"That isn't fair," Amelie told him.

"So many dear mortals make deals, dear mortal! They want_ this_ done, they want _that_ done! If I let them go back on their words willy-nilly, where would I be?!"

"Where, my lord?"

"In a right pickle, Dragonborn!" Sheogorath finished, hotly. "That's where!"

She wondered if she should grovel. But Amelie wasn't very good at grovelling. "P-please, my lord," she attempted. A small part of her brain was screaming, _Oh Divines! A Daedric Prince in my bedroom! _but she ignored it. "Where have you taken them?"

Sheogorath's expression turned sly, his smile fox-like and coy. "You know very well where they are, Dragonborn." And he scoffed when her shoulders slumped. "It's only forever! That's not long at all, by my reckoning..."

"Lord Sheogorath," said Amelie. "You proclaimed me as your Champion-"

"I have many champions." he cut her off, irritably. "Where is my old staff, anyway?"

"Does not a good favour deserve a good favour in turn?" She demanded, as demure and submissive as her flighty nature would allow. It seemed to amuse Sheogorath, who knew the ins and outs of every mortal he had the chance to meet, and all their true colours.

"You should go back to High Hrothgar, Dragonborn!" the Prince was good with subversion and distraction: and would ramble on endlessly if given the chance. "Go back to yourself! Your identity! Haven't you noticed it missing? What's a dragon-slayer, without dragons to slay? Forget about the children!"

"I. Can't," it was only Amelie's self-control that kept her from replying with a far more scathing insult. The Daedric Prince of Madness, lecturing about identity? In truth his words stung her, because they hit a nerve that was far deeper than the Dragonborn realised. "A favour," she carried on, doggedly. "One favour. Surely I deserve that, my Lord. It was a mistake. A cra... a foolish misunderstanding."

"Very well,"said Sheogorath, enjoying the way Amelie's dark eyes widened and the way her mouth flopped open in surprise. She thought that he was going to give the children back? Well... No. He wasn't. "You _did _help me out with my old chum Pelagius... Yes... a favour..." he reached his hands deep into his pockets, pulled something out. "A gift," he explained.

A crystal ball, bright and clear.

"If you turn it a certain way," Sheogorath was telling her, pressing the ball into her hands. It weighed almost nothing. "It will show you your dreams." She caught a glimpse of herself, of blood and fire and black wings, and shuddered. The Prince had closed his hands over hers and boring a hole in her head with his eyes. "But!" he barked, suddenly. Amelie flinched. "This isn't a gift for a lowly girl who takes care of bratty children. If you want it, and the dreams... forget them. Simple."

_Blessed is the Madgod, who tricks us when we are foolish,_ Amelie remembered the words from a book she once read. It would be foolish to take the trinket, for that was all it was. But his voice thrummed in her mind and all around her. The crystal sat still and light in her hands and showed her how great and powerful the Dragonborn could be. Without knowing it, Amelie had shut her eyes and begun to reminisce. Sheogorath planned to leave her with the crystal and return to his realm. Perhaps her failure would send her mad! A mad Dragonborn! Something worth seeing!

Thunder rattled the window-shutters and a streak of lightning lit up the room. Amelie's pulse raced and her blood pounded, and she clutched the crystal so tightly that her knuckles whitened. Deep within her she felt a burdening urge to shout, but refrained. She could hear the rain slamming into the windows, and peals of thunder, and flinched again. Her eyes flew open.

"I want the children back, my lord" she told the Prince. "Not a trinket."

"_Don't _defy me," Sheogorath smiled but his tone was very low, very ominous.

"A _dovah_ answers to no one," Amelie found herself growling, in a voice she didn't quite recognise. "Not even a god!"

"I wonder what a _dovah's _entrails look like!" Sheogorath threatened back. Amelie stumbled away from him and dropped the crystal. It didn't shatter as might have been expected, but disappeared into a puff of smoke. _Smoke and mirrors, _Amelie told herself regretting her moment of arrogance.

"You're no match for Us," Sheogorath seemed to read her thoughts and smirked. Amelie thought she might have seen a flash of Someone Else for a moment. She couldn't be sure. "But I'll tell you what..." he took her hand.

"We'll play a game shall we?" She was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness, blinded by the brilliant purple of a portal that ripped itself open to suck them inside. Her vision blurred. Amelie thought she might have heard the Madgod laugh as the world tumbled into blackness.

* * *

Amelie woke with no sense of time or space, blinded and baffled by the blazing sun above her. She was on her back sprawled on dry cracked ground that burned her through her robes. A hand suddenly appeared before her and she grabbed it without hesitation, thankful for the strength that pulled her to her feet. Not so thankful that the hand was attached to the arm of the Madgod who looked dangerously excited. Amelie turned around and saw a floating portal, and through it was her bedroom in Breezehome.

It had no mark of her summons attempt and everything was back in place, the bed even neatly folded. In the other direction lay a labyrinth that stretched as far as the eye could see. And, like a brilliant jewel, in the very centre of cracked stone maze, was a palace. It seemed to be constructed entirely of red and purple crystal. She almost couldn't look at it, it shone so brightly in the sunlight.

"Do you like it?" Sheogorath asked her quietly. "You should! I've just spent three days re-arranging New Sheoth! My citizens aren't pleased, I tell you! They don't like change... Well, some of them do. But the other half? Outraged!"

"W-what? Three days?" Amelie turned her eyes from the dazzling palace in the distance to the portal. She saw that the bed seemed to not have been laid in for some time, as well as being neatly made. "I've been _out _for three days?"

"Yes," Sheogorath replied. "Do keep up. Now. This game of ours-"

"What game?" Amelie snapped. "I need the children back!" She realised she still gripped the Madgod's hand in hers and quickly let go, now she could stand. Sheogorath's other hand rested on a cane which he leaned on with cavalier carelessness. "I need the children back, my Lord." she tried again.

"They're there in my palace," he replied dismissively. "Past all the mazes and the madmen!" and then his voice turned sly. "Are you _sure _you want to look for them?"

"You- You made all this?" Amelie breathed a sigh of exasperation. "This maze? I have to get through this giant- fuck." She swore. "That's... that's not fair. Why not save yourself the trouble and simply return them?"

"Where would be the fun in that?" Sheogorath sniffed. "Besides, the boy- the littlest mortal- Kodlak. I like him. He'll make a fine heir."

"Don't you dare _touch _him!"

"I'll do what I like!" The Madgod seemed to grow in size and loom over her, a dark expression finally crossing his face as he lost patience. "This is my realm, lass! And my rules! And if you don't like it!" And then, he shoved her roughly, closer towards the portal that would lead her home and away from hardship. "Then cheerio!"

Amelie caught her balance and straightened. She wouldn't be bullied, not even by a God.

"What do I have to do?" she asked in a low voice.

"You have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth," Sheogorath told her, bowing formally. "Before the children become mine. Forever. Such a pity! I suggest turning back, Dragonborn. _Amelie_. Before it's too late."

"I _can't_." Amelie growled. "And I won't."

"A pity," Sheogorath replied, simply. "Ah!" he waved his hand. "It's only _fair, _as you mortals say, that I even the game a little. I've left you a few presents in the Labyrinth here and there."

Then, he smiled. "Oh! Nothing like the gift of giving!"

Amelie turned her back on him. She stared out at the Labyrinth, at it's enormous, sheer walls, covered with bursts of bright flowers and butterflies, covered with dark swampy vines in other places. "Time is short," Sheogorath prompted.

"Doesn't look that far," she tried bravado.

"Oh, it's further than you think!"

"And I'm more powerful than _you _give me credit for," Amelie sneered back, stomping away from the portal, away from Sheogorath. There was a dark, worn path that led across the barren desert to the gates of the Labyrinth, as good a starting point as ever.

"Such a pity," she heard the Mad God murmur. And when she turned around a minute or two later, the portal and the Prince had disappeared into thin air.

* * *

**Next chapter up later tonight/early tomorrow. Do review! Cheese for everyone~**


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